


What Do I Know?

by wittytitle111



Series: Drabbles and Ficlets [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:32:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittytitle111/pseuds/wittytitle111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Cousland and Alistair are falling for each other. Morrigan is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do I Know?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sadcousland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadcousland/gifts).



> Thank you to sadcousland for letting my borrow her lovely Abigail!

“You are doing it again,” said Morrigan. She popped a strawberry into her mouth, but kept her face neutral as she relished its sweetness. It still felt odd to be in a place where she could consume wild berries without fear of being poisoned by them. She twirled another strawberry in her fingers, letting its bright red hue shimmer in the firelight. Had she been in the Korcari Wilds, such a tempting color would be synonymous with “deadly.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alistair replied. Morrigan glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The idiot man was gazing across the fire pit with so much unrequited affection it made her physically ill. She did not need to see what he was staring at—the flush in his cheeks and the pining expression in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“’Tis pointless to deny it, Alistair,” she said mildly, wiping the sticky juice from her fingers onto her skirt. Across camp, the silence was broken by a sudden titter of female voices. Alistair tensed, his hands gripping even tighter to his legs as if to keep himself from bolting away. 

“Could you maybe go be nosy somewhere else? I hear the bottom of Lake Calenhad is wonderful this time of year,” he said dryly.

Sighing through her nose, Morrigan followed his gaze across the flames to the other side of camp. Warden Abigail Cousland sat on the ground and awkwardly held a lute in her lap. Sister Leliana knelt down beside her, smiling amiably as she helped instruct the Warden in playing a simple tune. Morrigan grit her teeth against the sound of Abigail’s clumsy plucking; she had already warned them about the dangers of making so much noise in the wilderness, but (as ever) her counsel had been disregarded.

“You gave it to her, I presume?” she asked.

“What?”

“That flower you have been clinging to since we left Lothering. One can only assume that its absence from your care means that it has been placed with another’s…?”

Alistair turned toward her, the blush in his cheeks even more pronounced. “It…That wasn’t—! I mean, I wasn’t ….” His words floundered from his mouth. Finally he ducked his head and started to wring his hands together. “It’s none of your business," he mumbled pitifully.

Morrigan raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Your attempts to woo our fair Warden did not proceed as you intended, then?”

“Who says I was trying to woo her?” he moped, peeking his head up again so he could see Abigail and Leliana giggling about something to each other.

“’Tis strange…I was under the impression she was quite taken with you. Why, I cannot fathom,” she sniffed.

Alistair’s head snapped in Morrigan’s direction, his eyes wide and child-like. “Did she…say anything?”

Morrigan slipped another strawberry into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Not explicitly to me. We are hardly confidants,” she admitted. “But ‘tis obvious, no?” 

Alistair’s brow creased suddenly and he frowned. “Oh, ha ha very funny, Morrigan,” he said in an annoyed tone.

“What?”

“As if you of all people would understand this kind of thing,” he snorted, gesturing vaguely toward Abigail.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes in an icy glare. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You grew up in a swamp with a crazy witch mother, who apparently kills and does unspeakably horrible things to her lovers. You also seem to lack, I don’t know, human decency and can turn into a giant spider so please forgive me if I don’t come to you for courtship advice,” he said.

She felt a wave of heat rush up into her pale cheeks and she clenched her fists tightly to prevent her from calling down a lightning bolt to end him once and for all. “’Twas only an observation,” said through gritted teeth. “I have no intent to encourage your insipid flirtations. If anything, I would warn you against such an endeavor.”

“And why’s that?”

“I do not need my mother’s gift of foresight to see that it will end badly,” said Morrigan sharply. Idiot boy, she thought. 

“Riiiight,” Alistair drawled. “Because you just know everything, don’t you?” She opened her mouth to respond when the sound of a twig snapping made them both look up.

“I’m sorry,” said Abigail softly. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No! Not at all, we’re just…er…doing nothing,” said Alistair, his face the very picture of love-stricken stupor. Morrigan rolled her eyes but remained silent.

Abigail smiled at him and held out her hand. “Come on,” she beckoned. “I want to show you the song Leliana taught me.” Nervously, he reached forward and clasped her hand as she helped lift him from the ground. “But don’t you dare laugh,” she warned him amicably. “I’m still terrible at it.”

As Abigail turned around to head back across camp, Morrigan noticed a ruby-colored rose woven into the braids at the back of her blonde hair. She watched them both go, Alistair following Abigail as eagerly and dutifully as a puppy. Finally alone, Morrigan stared into the fire and listened to the sound of Abigail’s simple song. Morrigan had never heard the song before, but Alistair’s surprisingly warm tenor voice accompanied her in a quiet hum. 

When the song was over, Morrigan glanced across the fire again. Both of the Wardens were sitting close to each other; the lute had been set aside, forgotten. They were talking to each other in low murmurs, too low for Morrigan to understand. Abigail looked up at Alistair through her long lashes, and the fool boy was clearly enraptured by every word. 

Morrigan felt something ache in her chest—a lost loneliness she hadn’t felt since she was very young. But the feeling passed as quickly as it came as she drowned it in the icy cynicism of reality. The Wardens could not afford to fight a Blight half-blinded by love; it would only endanger their survival. The fate of Ferelden stood on the edge of a knife, and yet they were falling into the traps of affection just the same.

She studied the two for another moment. The Wardens were holding out their hands to each other, comparing their battle scars. Morrigan suddenly felt like an intruder on the intimate scene and her skin crawled uncomfortably until she looked away. She pushed the basket of strawberries away. It would be pointless to try to sway them from each other now.

And besides, they never took her advice anyway.


End file.
